


Beautiful Little Fool

by Zombie_Slayer



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Genre: 1st story, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/M, Pamela is completely different from Daisy, Slow Burn, Time Travel, at least I think so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-04 22:00:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6676957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zombie_Slayer/pseuds/Zombie_Slayer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daisy hoped that Her daughter Pamela would grow into a beautiful fool. Sadly, Pamela is far from a fool and unlike her mother She does not fear striking out on her own. Pamela or Elizabeth as she goes by, has returned home from Oxford to visit her parents. She soon begins to unravel the truth of what happened to break apart her parents and Nick Carraway twenty years ago as she gets thrown into the past. The time travel will not happen until a few chapters in. I suck at summaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. chapter 1

Beautiful Fool

Pamela- chapter 1

 

I am Pamela Elizabeth Buchanan. My life was relatively normal for a girl of my status until the summer of '44 when I decided to return home.

 

I had spent last 3 years in England earning a Degree in English. I was devoted to my studies and had finished my degree early. After a few years of avoiding home with school, I now had no excuse to stay away. My mother has been to asking me to return more frequently the past few months.

 

I had gone to school instead of getting married like my parents insisted. My parents’ disapproval had led to an argument the night before I left.

  
_*Flashback*_

_"I've already been accepted," I exclaimed._

 

_"No! Absolutely not! No daughter of mine is going across the ocean for some silly notion of being a writer!" Father's face was red like he was ready to strike me._

 

_I held my ground. "I'm not going to sit around and waste my life being trophy in an unhappy marriage,” I tried not to flinch as father moved closer with his arm raised._

 

_"Of course not there are plenty of boys out there, your father and I will look for a suitable one. Just because it didn't work out with the Tompson boy-," my mother Daisy tried to defuse the situation._

 

_"You're not listening! I don't want to marry, I want to be a writer," I stomped to my room._

 

_I could hear my parents arguing in the room I left them. I couldn't help but laugh, my parents spend most of their time forgetting I exist. After what feels like hours my mother walks in alone. My father had probably gone out for a drink._

 

_"Your father and I discussed the issue-" she started._

 

_"I'm going," I cut her off. I knew I was acting like a child but my future was on the line._

 

_"We'll let you go until you go tired of this idea you've adopted," she continued like I hadn't spoken._

 

_"You must send lots of letters and tell us when you’re ready to come home," she smiled at me._

 

_"Thank you," I smiled despite her lack of faith in my choice._

 

_"Yes, yes, I’ll send you plenty of allowance to make sure you keep up with the latest styles and am sure you'll be able to find a good husband at Oxford..." She began_ _._

_*Flashback end*_

 

"We're here Miss."

 

"Pardon," I was brought out of my thoughts.

 

"Your stop, we are here," he repeated. I thanked him and handed him money for the ride.

 

I looked up at the house I grew up in. I didn't feel happiness that many speak about when they return home-it felt like just another place. East Egg- I felt no fondness for the community. All I felt was the loneliness and lies that filled many of these houses.

 

"I'll take that for you miss," my parents’ doorman took my bags. I walked into the lounge where my parents were with a guest.

 

"Pammy!"  My mother Daisy hugged and called me by the nickname she had given me as a child. 

 

"Hello mother," I returned the hug.

 

"It's been too long I've missed you terribly," mother said the expected pleasantries for when a guest arrives and sat back down. My mother's affections were only ever given to me when company was around and it was expected of her.

 

"I see England hasn't done you much good as I had hoped it would," I could see mother scrutinizing my outfit. I was wearing a plain white blouse and a bright blue A-line skirt. I liked my outfit it was comfortable and not over the top like my mother's dresses. 

 

"Nope! Still a single writer like I intend," I smiled as the guest tried to cover up their snort. 

 

"Sit down Pamela, let me get you a drink," my father gave me a look that told me to shut up as he left the room. I sat down next to my mother.

 

"Nicky, this is Pamela. Pamela this is Nick Carraway, our cousin," my mother introduced us.

 

I had heard many stories about Nick Carraway. More often than not my parents compared me to him and said I'd end up like him. He used to live in west egg and sell bonds before the depression. He had a falling out with my parents and moved shortly after the summer of 1922. Nick had become a fairly successful author a few years after. He never depended on his family's money and made a life for himself. 

 

"Nice to meet the man I'm so often compared to. I'd tell you it was only good things but that'd be a lie" I shook his hand.

 

"Pamela," my father said in a stern voice handing me my drink. 

 

"Nice to meet a young lady so honest," he smiled. He gave me a bright smile like I had just showed him something amazing. I suppose that by now a man in his 50's must be used to the lies that come with social elites.

 

My father snorted and shook his head. My mother looked at me horrified. I felt no need to play perfect daughter for them when they rarely acted as parents for me. 

 

"So Nick, how's that writing going for you," my father spoke in an unctuous tone.

 

"Fairly well- Actually, I'm almost done with a new book-"

 

"Another fictional book I suppose?" Father rudely cut Nick off.

 

"I believe Mr. Carraway's books are wonderful. His books bring to light many social issues-" I began before father cut me off. 

 

"Oh, I've read his books! Load of nonsense, equality between races and genders..." He went on about whites being the superior race. Unable to listen to my father’s nonsense any longer, I stood up.

 

"Mr. Carraway! Come with me to see the gardens! I haven't seen them in years," I grabbed Nick's arms pulling him in the direction of the gardens. 

 

"Sorry about my father. He doesn't have any sense at times," I told.

 

"Tom's always been that way," he said.

 

"Why are you here," I look him in the eye and get straight to the point. 

 

"Daisy asked me to come after she received some bad news," he told me cautiously, like one misplaced word could set me off. What news would my mother have that’d be so secretive?

"Oh?" I urge him to continue.

 

"Your parents will tell you in their own time.” He shook his head clearly indicating he had no intention of telling me more. We walk for a bit in the garden. 

 

"I truly do like your books. They were part of what inspired me write,” I looked at Nick to watch his reaction. Surprise flitted across his face.

 

"You're a writer?" He looked at me carefully, like everything about me would suddenly reveal itself. 

 

"I just finished my degree in English. I've been gone the past few years and returned home today. I've only published one novel, nothing compared to your work," I blushed. I always feel embarrassed when I talk about myself too much.

 

"Oh-tell me about your book" He looked at me curious. 

 

"It's about a woman that works in a factory and struggles to find work after the war," I looked down. 

 

“It does seem inevitable that woman will be discouraged from working when the Great War ends," he nodded showing he agreed with me. 

 

I smiled at him. My father had hated the book and everything it stood for and my mother just couldn't wrap her head around a woman working. 

 

"You're not like them," Nick looked me in the eyes. He didn't clarify but I knew he meant my parents.

 

"Neither are you," I responded.

 

We were quiet as we walked back to the house. Nick and I spent some time with my parents making idle chitchat until he excused himself saying he was visiting a friend later. 

 

"Pammy, it's been so long since I've seen you," my mother said from her seat next to my father. 

 

"You're almost 24 now; it's time you settled down. Like a proper young woman," my father said.

 

"There's a suitable young man down the street and I was thinking-"

 

"Absolutely not," I told my mother.

 

"I have no intention of marrying anytime soon. I plan to support myself with my writing," I continued.

 

"Support yourself-" he sputtered.

 

"It's getting late and I'm sure Pammy is just tired from her long day. Let’s all go to bed," my mother stood up. I nodded to her and retired to my room for the night. 

 

In my room I couldn't help but look out across the bay and wonder what is out there. There is so much out there for me to explore-to learn. I reach my hand out as if I could grab onto the future I dreamed of for myself.

 

 

 

 


	2. chapter 2

I woke up to a bright ray of light blinding me. I groaned and rolled over still jet lagged. I threw the blankets my head prepared to waste the day away.

"Pammy," my mother came in and pulled the blankets off of me.

"Mom," I grabbed for blankets that were no longer there.

"No it's time for you to get up. I have much planned for today," she walked out with my blankets.

After dragging myself out of bed I went to my closet. My bags had been unpacked for me by one of the help. All of the help had been replaced since I had last been home-mother or father must have had another scandal they needed to cover up.

I pulled out a pair of pants and a blouse I had bought while I was away. It was comfortable yet still fashionable for the average woman. Mother and father likely won't approve since it's not up to mother's garish taste.

I walked downstairs to my mother who was wearing one of her gaudy dresses. Mother did a double take at my outfit and looked like she had sucked on a lemon. She pinched her nose and exhaled deeply. I had to resist the urge to smile at her dramatics.

"What are you wearing," she looked as if my outfit had personally offended her,

"Pants and a blouse," I put my hands in my pockets.

"That is not appropriate for a woman of your status, no wonder you couldn't find a man at Oxford!" She shook her head in disbelief.

"Most woman are wearing pants now, you should try them. They're much more practical than the flamboyant dresses you'd have me wear," I shrugged, ignoring her comment about a husband.

"Pants are for poor woman who work in factories, you should never have to work a day in your life," she grabbed my arm and pulled me back to my room.

"Strip," she demanded. I did as she said.

My mother began to rummage through my closet, murmuring about woman today and their lack of style. She finally pulled out a gown she had bought me a few years ago I tried not to grimace at the flashiness of it. I wouldn't be able to do much besides look pretty in it.

"This will work, we'll have to pick you up some more while we're in town of course," she tossed me the dress. I knew better than to argue with my mother about my wardrobe. It's just a visit I remind myself.

I put on the dress. The dress doesn't look terrible but it's too much for a causal day, perhaps a party. I couldn't imagine myself willing going to a party that would require me to wear something like this. A sudden realization hits me as my mother does my hair and makeup.

"We're not meeting anyone today, right," I ask slowly. Mother smiled at me.

"This morning we'll go to town and get you a better wardrobe. This afternoon I've invited the Johnsons for tea," she told me.

"Mother no," I whined. The Johnsons were another well off family in east egg with two sons near my age. The boys were all brawns no brains.

"The family is well off, either boy could make you happy," she continued my makeup.

"Money doesn't create happiness," I crossed my arms. Mother pursed her lips and didn't dignify my comment with a response.

"Come we must head to town," Mother I followed mother out to the car.

We sat in the back seat together while a driver took us to town. Mother has always refused to drive and made my father hire a driver when I was a child. I received a license while I was at Oxford and often drove my friends' home after their parties. I doubt mother would be glad to hear about me driving.

"…Are you listening," my mother frowned at me.

"Sorry," I blushed.

"I was thinking that after we got you some clothes we could go for lunch." She repeated herself for me.

"That sounds nice," I smiled at her.

We spent the next several hours getting dresses tailored to me.

"You're beautiful," my mother looked at me close to tears.

I looked down at the dresses she picked out for me. I was a near copy of her in her youth. The only difference was that I had my father's hair; brown and wavy instead of her blond. She looked so pleased at me in the dresses I knew I'd wear them again to get her to look at me like that.

My mother paid for the dresses and had a man take them out to our driver. I looked at the large mass of dresses and couldn't help but think it was a waste for me to have so many dresses. I'd only wear each dress once or twice because that's what ladies "of my status" do.

"Come," my mother lead me into a restaurant.

"Reservation for Buchanan," my mother told the hostess.

"Of course," the woman led us to a secluded corner of the restaurant. My mother never used to reserve tables in corners. She likes being seen in the center of a group.

Mother and I sat down and she ordered for us. She played with a napkin and avoided eye contact. I could tell she was working her nerve up to something and let her be while I ate.

It was during desert she worked up the courage to tell me what was bothering her.

"I-I know your father and I haven't shown it over the years, but we do care for you," she paused.

"Mother, I-" I didn't know how to respond my mother never shared real feelings with me.

"Let me finish before you say anything. You're father and I want to make sure you're taken care of because we won't be here forever," she looked me in the eyes in the moment and I could see a lifetime of regret in her expression.

"I'm dying, lung disease!" She let out a sob. I looked at her with wide eyes I'd never seen my mother show so much emotion.

"I want to see you taken care of before I pass. Please just meet with some of the boys we've picked for you," she grabbed my hand.

I didn't know how to respond. My mother had never placed me in situations involving real emotions when I was a child.

"Mother I know you want me married to a rich man but I can't! I'm not like you. I'll marry for love or not at all. I've done fairly well on my book, I've made a few hundred," I looked her in the eyes.

"If only you'd been around in my youth. You would have been better for jay than I would have," she became lost in thoughts of her youth. Knowing that she was dying must have her reminiscing the past.

I couldn't help but wonder who jay was. An old friend? Perhaps a lover? She had never spoken to me about a lover in the past. Then again father and her have both had their fair share of affairs over the years that they both pretend they don't see. Jay must have been one of the many undeserving broken hearts my mother left behind. It's something my parents have in common; they use good people and spit them out.


	3. Chapter 3

The ride home has been silent. Mother kept sneaking glances at me. I didn't know what to do with the information she had given me. My mother had given me three major pieces of information to take in; she's dying, I'm expected to marry now more than ever, and the mysterious Jay.

When mother and I had arrived home the help grabbed our bags and put them up for us. Father was waiting for us in the lounge. Looking at father I could now see that he looked tired and stayed closer to mother than he usually would. This wasn't the usual buying mother extras gifts after one of their affairs came to light. He lingered just close enough to be in my mother's space but not close enough to cause gossip from a guest. Was my father truly concerned about losing my mother?

"The Johnsons are coming over soon," my mother gave me a desperate look.

I wanted to argue but she wanted me to meet them so badly. I knew I would never marry one of the Johnson boys but I'd meet them to give her some relief. If it makes her feel better introducing me to different men in the short time she had left I'd let her.

"Okay I'll be reading until they arrive," I rushed to the library.

The library was filled with books. It was much larger in size to any store you'd go to. Generations of Buchanans had added to the mass assortment of books in the family library. I avoided books from the last few decades; they were full of my father's racist ideas. I picked up a book from the enlightenment period and began to read.

"Pamula," my father walked into the library.

"Yes father?" put my book down and smiled at him.

"Tonight some men will be here to meet you. I expect you to marry soon and became a respectable woman soon," He shifted in the doorway. His body language showed that he felt guilty and I couldn't help but wonder why.

"You're more than past the age for a woman to marry and your mother will not be here to put up with your nonsense much longer," he told me. He made sure not mention himself, implying that he would not be in my life.

"Sounds like you already have plans for after mother passes," I gave him a piercing look.

"I will move on just as you will. The only thing missing is a marriage for you," he evaded responding to my implications.

"Are you planning to remarry after mother," father wasn't too old to remarry but it was too soon for him to be planning on it.

"We are talking about your future. Stop changing the topic," he gained a frustrated tone. He wanted to get rid of me and forget mother.

"Who is she," he had probably already thought too much on life after mother to not have a back up woman.

"That doesn't concern you," he stormed out of the library.

I crossed my arms from where I sat. As always father just wanted me out of the way. At least mother had benevolent reasons to marry me off. Father just wants me to become someone else's responsibility. He woman waiting for after mother passes.

I felt anger stir in my stomach. Father has had many mistresses over the years but he never had plans to keep them. It may have been childish but I wanted my father to at least pretend he cared about mother. I wanted my father to wait until long after my mother's death to find another woman to warm his bed.

"Miss Buchanan, your parents request your presence downstairs. The Johnsons have arrived," one of the help told me.

"Thank you," I walked down to the dining area were they all were.

"Pammy! Come here," mother was talking with Mrs. Johnson.

"Marge this is my daughter Pamela," my mother introduced me to Mrs. Johnson.

"These are my sons Robert and James," the boys stood and kissed my hand.

Both of the boys were tall and all muscle. I had never actually met the boys but growing up in the same community made it so everyone knew each other in passing. I had heard that the boys had played polo in their time at Yale.

Robert was in his mid 30s and a womanizer to the boot. The poor woman that chose to be his wife would find nothing but a cold bed and money.

James was a year or two older than me and had little interest in woman at all. James had always been that way and had been caught with a few boys in our youth. He kept tried to keep his sexuality a secret due to its scandalous nature. I never understood what concerned others about homosexuality, if you don't like it don't do it. My father has many obnoxious opinions on the topic.

The night had dragged on for several hours while my parents socialized with the Johnsons. I kept my responses polite and brief as possible. The boys were a terrible bore; it appeared that their time at Yale did little for their logic. The Johnsons left after a few hours useless chitchat.

"So what did you think of them," mother questioned me with hope in her eyes.

"Well, I-" the phone rang saving me from answering.

"Mr. Buchanan, there is a call for you," father left.

"…Yes I'll meet with you tomorrow," I heard the end of the conversation and I could tell that mother did as well judging by the look on her face.

My father returned to the living room. We sat in an awkward silence for a moment.

"I have a meeting with Mr. Jones tomorrow. I'll be gone most of the day," father informed us.

"It's been a long day. I am retiring to bed," my mother left. I could tell she was upset.

"Mother's dying and you're going to visit a whore," I accused.

"I'm visiting Mr. Jones for business-"

"You never take calls this late unless it's a mistress. You're a wife is dying! You could at least pretend you care," I raised my voice.

"I do not have to justify myself to you," he walked out.

I went to my room upset. Father had been so careless with mother's feelings. There were times when I thought he cared but mother had always been more of an object to him than anything else. I should have been used to my father's affairs but it hurt so much more knowing that I was going to lose him to a mystery woman and my mother to a illness. After mother passes father is going to abandon me for his mistress.

I looked out across the bay. West Egg sat beyond the bay it was the place where the dreamers with new money used to go. So much hope went into every person that had lived in West Egg back in its prime. I fell asleep thinking about the hope that had once lived across the bay.


	4. Chapter 4

I woke up to knocking at my door. I didn't want to deal with my parents so I rolled over.

"Miss, there's a phone call for you," I recognized the voice of a maid behind the door.

"Who is it," I mumbled into my pillow.

"It's a Nick Carraway, miss,"

"Coming," I leapt out of bed. Cousin Nick had always seemed so splendid knew I would enjoy a conversation with him.

"Hello Mr. Carraway," I answered the phone.

"Pamela you can call me Nick," he chuckled.

"Alright, but if I call you Nick you must call me Elizabeth, all my friends do," I responded.

"Elizabeth, I was hoping to invite you out for lunch," he said.

"Sounds great! Where should we meet?" I asked.

"I'll pick you up around noon," he told me.

"Alright. I'll see you soon,"

After the phone call I went back to my room to get ready. I had still been wearing my night clothes.

"What to wear," I wondered. My mother would wear a really nice dress, but I am not my mother. I put on a pair of brown pants, a blouse and some boots.

I hid a small hand gun in my boot in case of an emergency. Something could easily happen while nick and I were out today. Mother would throw a fit if she knew I carried something so unladylike. I usually carried a weapon of some kind due to the fact it wasn't safe for a woman to go out alone like I often do. A few of my friends had gotten hurt by going out alone and defenseless. I refused to be a victim if I could prevent it.

I told a maid to inform my parents I was leaving and went outside to wait for Nick. I was excited to see him. Nick wasn't like my parents he cared for people and didn't mess with being fake and proper.

I heard a car coming and walked down the steps. Nick drove up and flashed me a smile.

"Hello Elizabeth," he said as one of the help opened the door for me.

"It's nice to see you again Nick," I told him as I entered the car.

"You look lovely today," he told me.

"My parents will have a fit when they see what I'm wearing,"

"You're not your parents. I've done plenty that my family didn't approve of, especially when I was your age," he kept his eyes locked on the road.

"You're not like the rest of the family. You're like me even if I'm not fully sure what that is yet," I expressed my thoughts to him.

"No, you have something much more than the rest of them," he said.

The rest of the drive was in silence. I pondered nick's words as we drove. What did Nick think I have that the others don't? The way he said it lead me to believe it was more than my rebellious attitude that he was referring to.

The restaurant was nice yet simple. It was a place that my mother wouldn't go just because it wasn't up to her standards. I thought it was perfect for a casual lunch.

"Nick, I don't want to offend you but I was wondering something," I paused to give him time to tell me to drop the subject if he wanted.

"Yes?" He nodded his head.

"What happened between you and my parents?" I asked.

"That's a bit difficult to answer. A very brief summary would be that they wronged Jay Gatsby. Jay Gatsby was the best man I ever met," he sighed.

"My mother mentioned a Jay the other day. She said that I would've been good for him," I said.

"You would've been much better for him than your mother. You are everything he needed while your mother was what he thought he wanted."

"They were lovers," I wasn't sure if I was asking or saying.

He nodded.

"And she broke him," I frowned.

He nodded again with tears starting to fill his eyes.

"Has your mother told you her news yet?" He changed the topic.

"She's dying," I said flatly.

"It must be difficult for you. I was much older when I lost my parents," he said.

"After mother dies father wants to leave with his mistress so he's trying to get me married so I'm someone else's problem," I huffed in an unladylike way.

"I wish I could say that comes as a surprise," he gave me a sad look.

"I'm not going to marry for him. He's thought that I'm a disgrace for a long time anyway. This will just finally give him enough reason to kick me out," I shrugged.

"You're welcome to stay with me if you need," he gave a small smile.

"I couldn't impose," I shook my head.

"If you find yourself with no place to go, come to me," he looked me in the eyes and gave me a serious look that told me he meant it.

"Thank you," I told him.

For the rest of the meal we talked about our books and writing. Nick was an intriguing man with an outlook that differed from most. I found conversation easy with him. He was supportive, caring, honest, and an all around good person. He was the type of man I wish my father was for me.

We made light and cheerful conversation on the car ride home.  
Nick walked me up to the door and I hugged him.

"Thank you for taking me out Nick," I smiled.

"The pleasure was mine Elizabeth," he smiled back.

I checked the clock as I entered and frowned. I had been gone all day it was nearly five. I had a good time with Nick so it was time well spent.

As I neared the sitting room the saw the help gathered around the door gossiping. They quickly parted to let me into the room. What I saw shocked me.

The room was destroyed! Objects had been thrown about and the pearls of one of my mother's necklaces were scattered about. What shocked me most was the state my mother was in. My mother was on the couch crying, her makeup was smeared all over her face, and she was drinking straight from a bottle of alcohol.

"Mother what happened?" I ran to her and took the bottle from her.

"He's dead!" She sobbed into my neck.

"Who's dead," I didn't understand what was going on at the time.

"Your father!" She screeched. I held her until she cried herself to sleep.


End file.
